


Smitten

by xel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, McCree is here too, Pharmercy is background ... ish, in the most supportive support role
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xel/pseuds/xel
Summary: Hana tells Fareeha she may find the the new recruit, Brigitte, cute. Fareeha tells Angela. Angela tries not to be, but is at her heart, a meddler.Brigitte’s trying to get adjusted to life now, and ideally not make a fool of herself in front of the very pretty, very cool, and perhaps slightly standoffish D.Va.Hana’s trying to make it through a conversation with her dignity in tact.Fareeha is honestly just trying to have one kiss that is not interrupted.





	1. A Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little, totally self-indulgent Mekanic/Pharmercy fic.

* * *

“Have you ever noticed how everything is really hard, like all of the time?”

Fareeha looks up from her book; the faint glow of the television before her and the single, decorative lamp on the end-table beside her grant her the light she needs to read it. The light sources also casts a faint shadow over her companion.

Hana, splayed across the length of the couch, has a pillow thrown over her face, her legs draped across Fareeha’s thighs. Her words come muffled under the fabric of the pillow. One of her arms is across her stomach and the other hangs limply over the edge of the couch they occupy as she talks; Fareeha notes with some amusement that her fingers twitch with her words.

Fareeha returns to her book.

“That is just how life can be,” she says, knowing that the words will help no one, but awkwardly aware that she really does not know what else to say. Hana groans. Fareeha rereads the same line three times in her book as she waits for Hana to speak again.

“I think I have a crush on the new recruit.”

The proclamation comes somewhat out of the blue; at the very least, of all the things Fareeha expects, she does not expect this particular confession.

Fareeha blinks, looks over at Hana just as the other girl lifts up the pillow to meet her eyes.

“Torbjörn’s daughter...?” Fareeha asks, perplexed. Hana’s cheeks turn a light pink, the pillow drops back over her eyes and her reply is muffled once more:

“I ran into her in the garage this morning when I was doing diagnostics on Bunny,” Hana tells her. “She’s so ...” Hana’s words die in her mouth. Fareeha is somewhere between reliving the humor of the knowledge that a mecha is named Bunny and urging Hana to continue. She settles on the latter.

“Pretty...?” Fareeha supplies

“Tall,” Hana says instead.

Fareeha snorts. She closes her book and sets it on the end table, beside the lamp.

“... and pretty,” Hana concedes, begrudgingly.

“Have you talked to her?” Fareeha asks, patting the younger girl’s shin in sympathy.

“She asked me for my name,” Hana says, and pauses for what is probably too long, though Fareeha cannot say for certain. “I said ‘wrench’. Then I gave her the wrench that I was using and walked away. I ran into a toolbox... I didn’t even finish my diagnostics.”

“That is ...” Fareeha tries not to, but a chuckle bubbles up in her response. This is enough for Hana to fully disregard her pillow and grace Fareeha with a truly sour glare. “That is certainly a way to make an impression,” Fareeha finishes through the hand now hiding her smile.

“She will never talk to me again.”

“I doubt that.”

“You didn’t see her face.” Hana groans, turning on the couch to flop on her side. Her eyes are now fixed on the TV which has been on the game show network for the better part of the last two hours.

It is Fareeha’s favorite channel. She is not entirely sure if Hana cares for the shows, but she has never missed a TV night and has only asked to switch the channel intermittently since they started having them.

“Hana, I would not worry about your ... admittedly rough first meeting,” says Fareeha, “I am sure Brigitte will warm up to you quickly.”

Hana blinks and turns her head so that Fareeha can see the shine of new information in the younger girl’s eyes, and the way her expressing reflects her interest in it.

“Her name is Brigitte?”

“You didn’t ask her name?”

There’s a pause, Hana squirms, as if reliving the earlier meeting. He face scrunches up before she responds.

“I was too busy tripping over toolboxes and giving her wrenches...” says Hana, looking genuinely mortified.

“Perhaps Brigitte likes receiving wrenches as gifts.”

Fareeha does not miss the flare of a blush returning as Hana turns back to the TV. Fareeha smiles, shakes her head lightly, and retrieves her book.

 

* * *

 

” _Talon coming in from the left; four_ ,” says Angela, her fingers move deftly over the earpiece in her ear, as she finishes speaking, to mute it; Fareeha sits across from her at their small corner café table and they wait for the four men Angela has singled out to walk by the ally across the street. Fareeha takes a sip of her coffee and counts back from ten. On two, she hears more than sees the swift movements of a scuffle in the ally Mercy has been surveilling. A moment after that McCree’s voice breaks in over the channel with a languid:

_”Got ‘em”_

Hearing the news, Fareeha mutes her comms, too. The job is done.

 _”Good,”_ says Jack Morrison, _“secure the criminals and meet back at headquarters. Good job team.”_

Fareeha takes another sip of her coffee. When she sets the cup down and meets Angela’s eyes, she finds the other woman studying her. It isn’t unusual, not when they are together in all but name, but Fareeha still feels warm under the doctor’s piercing gaze.

“Hmm?” Fareeha hums, the question lingering.

”Something is on your mind,” says Angela, her lips pull up into a small but genuine smile. Fareeha chuckles if only because it’s concering how well the woman across from her can read her.

“I did not say that,” Fareeha replies. 

”You didn’t have to, I can see thoughts swarming behind your eyes.”

Fareeha debates not sharing.

Her thoughts are on Hana, and part of her thinks that the young gamer deserves her privacy, but then, this is Angela, and Fareeha has been exceptionally careful about not hiding things from Angela. Mostly out of respect for the woman she loves, but also out of futility. Angela is a perceptive woman on bad days, and a true terror of intuition on better ones, that much cannot be denied. Fareeha sighs. 

“I was thinking about something Hana told me last night.” Fareeha confesses.

Angela graces her with a perplexed look that begs to know more and goes so far into the adorable territory Fareeha forgets to acknowledge it is probably a trap. “She has a crush.”

“Oh?” Angela says, asking for everything and giving nothing away. She sips some of her coffee. Fareeha smirks. 

“I know what you are trying to do,” Fareeha says.

”I don’t know what you mean,” Angela responds, but she is a terrible actress and her sipping is becoming less natural by the second. 

“You want me to tell you on who, so that you can meddle.”

”Meddle!” Says Angela, “I would never!” She looks genuinely affronted. Fareeha rolls her eyes but smiles fondly. 

”It is on Brigitte.” Fareeha tells her, knowing she should not have. But then, Fareeha would be lying if she said she was not interested in seeing what the intelligent and subtle Angela Ziegler could do with the information. 


	2. En Route

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this was going to be three chapters but I lied... probably closer to five. We’ll see...

Suiting up for the first time has all of Brigitte’s nerves in a tizzy, and she’s making a genuine effort to keep a level head, but calm has never been a strength of hers. She misses a clasp on her armor and blushes though she knows no one is paying her any mind, and fixes it.

Glancing around, Brigitte gets a feel for her team on the mission - Mercy, D.Va, and McCree - and wonders how she should interject herself between them.

The pro-gamer, D.Va, is leaning up against McCree’s side, a handheld in her grasps and blowing bubblegum. She’s got headphones on, and seems totally disinterested in the things happening around her. McCree talks animatedly with his hands, but even that movement doesn’t disturb D.Va, and Brigitte thinks the crush she has had on the girl after watching her streams for the last couple of years might finally be starting to starting to ebb, if only because the real Hana Song is so completely different than the girl whose voice has been her companion in the silent workshop while she’s building. 

McCree is speaking with Hanzo Shimada, who is not on this mission with them, but appears to be half way into giving a lecture? Maybe?

Brigitte is still parsing out why Shimada would feel the need to lecture, but he seems like a very up and proper man, so maybe he just likes to confirm that there is a clear understanding of mission objectives. Brigitte doesn’t want to presume too much, but McCree had been indisputably asleep during the briefing the other day... maybe it isn’t such a bad thing.

Brigitte hazards a glance at Mercy last.

Angela Ziegler has been the warmest with her welcomes as far as those members on this mission’s team are concerned. Though no one has been unkind, McCree has been out on every mission since she joined a month ago and other than the one incident in the garage, D.Va hasn’t spoken two words to Brigitte - to be fair, she hasn’t been rude or anything, just totally absent. 

Mercy is speaking with Pharah. Brigitte watches them and wonders what exactly is going on there; she’ll have to ask her godfather at some point. The taller woman laughs in a way that seems private, pulls a coin from her pants pocket, hands it to the medic, and finishes their exchange by kissing Mercy on the cheek. Brigitte quickly looks away, feeling like an intruder on their private moment.

She wishes her farther was here to send her off, like Shimada and Amari send off their friends, but she knows he is knee-deep in a new project ... and because she is a lot like him in this regard, she doubts he’ll leave the workshop for anything short of an emergency. She doesn’t blame him, but she feels nervous none-the-less, and thinks he could help.

“Do not worry my young squire!” Brigitte notices the looming shadow seconds before a large, scarred hand envelopes her shoulder, and suddenly the melancholy is gone. Brigitte smiles.

“I’m not worried, Reinhardt,” she tells her godfather, turning to see his broad, larger-than-life grin. He squeezes her shoulder and drops his hand in a show of affection so ridiculously him Brigitte can’t help but to laugh. “I’m just a little nervous. This is my first team mission, my first mission at all ... I don’t want to mess up.”

“You won’t,” Reinhardt tells her, “you are working with the best!” Brigitte looks over her shoulder to see the rest of the team beginning to board the aircraft which will deliver them to New York, where they will spend three days on a recon mission of a possible terrorist arms dealing organization, and thinks that that is an especially long amount of time and more than enough time to disappoint people.

“I’m not sure that they’ll like me. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all great! ... but, well, I can’t help but to think if they don’t, three days will be a lifetime.”

“These are my friends!” Her godfather tells her, “they are good people, and so are you - they will love you!”

“Thanks,” Brigitte responds, her smile small, trusting his enthusiasm, but not so much his words.

“Now go, Brigitte! And be good,” Reinhardt gives her a quick hug and then pushes her towards the waiting drop ship. Brigitte nods.

_Game face on._

Just before she steps through the cargo entrance to the jet, someone else calls for her.

“Good luck out there, Brigitte,” says Pharah, from the same place Brigitte saw her earlier. She offers a small but friendly nod. “Keep them safe.”

Brigitte returns her nod. “I will!” And then she steps onto the aircraft, and they are off.

 

* * *

 

Hana stares at Brigitte, looking out a window and feels herself blush, having done literally nothing.

 _Start a conversation,_ she thinks, and says nothing.

_Ask her about her dad - wait, no, don’t do that._

_Ask her about ... about ..._

“So Brigitte,” says Angela. Brigitte perks up, her attention turning to the Swiss doctor and Hana wants to curl into a ball and die. _Missed chance._

“Hmm?”

“Your father tells me you love cats.”

From under his cowboy hat off and away a bit, McCree chuckles. He’s slouched down into his seat, his arms crossed. He’d been pretending to be asleep up until that point.

“Oh,” says Brigitte, peeking up in a way that’s so cute Hana feels mildly star struck, “yeah! They’re adorable!”

Angela smiles, but Hana swears she sees something more devious underneath it...

“You know, Hana has a black cat flight suit. You should get her to show it to you, it’s very cute.”

McCree snorts.

If the entire hull of the ship fell out beneath them and Hana started falling straight into the sweet embrace of death by Earth, it wouldn’t be so terrible.

“Really?” Brigitte’s attention shifts to Hana and there’s nothing but excitement. Brigitte leans forward. Hana can see her freckles.

“Er, yeah,” Hana says, “I probably have a picture of it on my Twitter. I can show you, it - it was just a costume I threw together for my Halloween livestream last year.” Hana clears her throat, pulling out her holo phone to distract herself from making too much eye contact and becoming the living embodiment of the disaster gay she’s constantly calling everyone else (i.e. Tracer).

“I didn’t know you did a Halloween livestream?” Brigitte says as Hana scrolls through her media feed. She stands and moved to sit beside Hana, ready to look over her shoulder when the other girl finds the photo.

“I livestream pretty much everything. Gotta get those sweet, sweet sponsorship dollars.”

Brigitte laughs.

Brigitte laughs and Hana blinks stupidly, having completely forgotten what she was doing.

 

* * *

 

Jesse watches Hana and Brigitte for all of two minutes under the brim of his hat before sidling over to where Angela’s at.

“I see what you’re doing, doc,” he says, his voice a low drawl, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“I haven’t got a clue what you mean, Jesse,” Angela replies, her voice barely above a whisper

“Aw, dumb don’t suit you, Angie,” Jesse chuckles, “but I ain’t stupid enough to push.”


	3. Night 1

The safe house in New York is the second least safe house Hana thinks she’s ever stepped foot in.  
  
(It is beaten out, barely, by Russia ... and that time only wins because her quote-unquote _shelter_ there had literally blown up seconds after she had booked it out the front door during what wasn't supposed to be a bombing by an Omnic regime who had obtained her coordinates, but had turned out to be exactly that.)  
  
To start, the foundation of the safe house is in what was once a bodega in Queens but is now a bordered-up hole-in-the-wall with more missing windows than intact ones. Glass litters the moldy linoleum floors and Hana watches with disgusted amazement as a rat scurries from one side of the room to the other, carrying something that looks suspiciously like a box of partially-disintegrating bang snaps.  
  
McCree must see this too because he back-paddles out the open front door with impressive speed, muttering curses the whole way. Hana hears ‘ _sweet Jesus_ ’, and snorts - bemused.  
  
“Charming…” says Angela, her nose scrunching up. She wipes a couple of fingers over a dusty counter. They comes back to her nearly black with grime; Hana notes that the well-presenting doctor has not accounted for what to do with the filth now that she has it.

Brigitte looks around, too. The other girl moves her whole body with every movement, interested in her surroundings and their situation more than anyone else in the room. Hana blushes, though no one is paying her any mind to care, averting her gaze.  
  
“Come on guys … It just - it just needs a little love,” Brigitte says, sounding optimistically unsure. Angela hums doubtfully, though not entirely unkind and she doesn't outright object.

Hana throws a cursory glance to some dilapidated shelves caving into themselves on a wall to the right of the group. They don't need love; they need to be torn out and the entire building demolished behind them. There is no hope here, this place is a disaster. Hana doesn't say that, what she does say, without really realizing it, is a muttered:  
  
“Same.”  
  
It takes Hana roughly two seconds to register what it is she has just said and in response to whom, and roughly the same amount of time to feel vaguely mortified and ready to die.

Brigitte turns to her, a smile spreading across her pretty lips.

Hana blinks slowly, purses her lips, and imagines that house in Russia ( _and, oh, it would be so nice to be back there, playing as the irl equivalent of Galaga aliens in bullet hell._ ) When she opens her eyes again, Brigitte is containing giggles behind her cupped hands.  
  
“ _Love_ isn’t something I would think Hana “D.VA” Song is short on,” she says, laughing still. Hana forces a nervous chuckle out of panicked lungs as a thought passes through her head like an unwanted advertisement:

(In tandem, helpfully, her subconscious provides her with the lyrics: _what is love? Baby don’t hurt me..._ )  
  
If she had to choose, Hana is pretty sure she would burn every fan letter she has ever received just to hear Brigitte laugh a few more times. Which is saying something, because Hana really does love her fans.  
  
Hana’s brain helpful supplies: _who even thinks that sort of thing_ and honestly, thank whatever deity there may or may not be that of all the bizarre people in Overwatch, with all their gimmicky eccentricities, none of them can read minds. Hana clears her throat.  
  
“Yeah, well...” she drifts off, refusing to pick up the pieces; effectively ending the conversation. “... Anyway, where's this entrance?”  
  
Her companions watch as, like a robot, Hana mechanically begins to look around for the trapdoor, or whatever similar entrance, which will lead to the actual safe house beyond, all the while, Brigitte’s beautiful face lingers in her peripheral.

 

* * *

  
  
Downstairs is much homelier than the entrance to its credit, but still very, very dusty.  
  
There is a trapdoor behind the cigarette display which swings open to reveal a set of metal stairs when McCree (finally convinced to get back inside, although it took Dr. Ziegler pulling him by the front of his flannel shirt to truly be effective) swipes his old Blackwatch insignia across a scanner under the cash register counter. Brigitte gets the sense that he’s been here before; he doesn’t have to look around for the scanner and he doesn’t spend a lot of time inspecting it for traps like Brigitte thinks he probably should.  
  
“Better not be any more damn rats down ‘here,” he mutters, grabbing one of the few remaining packs of cigarettes off the rack as they step past the threshold.

The first stair lights up under McCree's boot as he presses on it. It’s such a small thing, but Brigitte still finds it very cool, and is impressed when the other steps follow suit as McCree makes his way down. When they’re all on the stairs, Angela presses a button on the metal-lined wall. The display case swings back into place behind them so that the only light in the room is emanating from the path below their feet.  
  
“I think it’s very likely there will be,” Angela says as she does so, sounding soothing in the way only someone being somewhat condescending can be. Brigitte doesn’t laugh, thinks it would be impolite, but she does smile behind her hand at the cowboy’s expense.

McCree doesn't seem to mind. He kicks off into a tangent about rat kings and his disgust for them and anything remotely similar as they make their way down. Angela makes a couple of comments, but mostly they just let him talk.  
  
Brigitte and Hana find themselves in the middle of the pack as they walk, and Brigitte is a bit ashamed to admit she is living for the moments when Hana’s shoulder bumps against her (and is doing everything in her power not to come off as weird about the whole thing). Hana apologizes the first time it happens, but doesn’t say it again even when it reoccurs.

Brigitte wants to laugh at herself; it’s like she’s back in school again – confusing the crush she had on her friend for some sort of misplaced sense of camaraderie when the other girl had used her shoulder as a pillow on a school trip.    
  
Brigitte guesses it’s because she has spent so much time traveling with Reinhardt - she hasn’t really had the chance to find anyone cute - that’s why it’s so easy to get flustered by Hana Song. (Though the gamer's status and whole ... everything, is probably a contributing factor...)  
  
She's being silly, thinks Brigitte; although, she can’t deny, it’s nice getting to feel a little carefree for once - ironic as it is that she had to join Overwatch in order to finally feel her own age. Not that she can imagine having done anything different up until this point. She knows Reinhardt needs her; knows her dad expects a lot from her. And that’s okay! She expects a lot from herself, too...  
  
Brigitte’s foot hits the landing in tandem with McCree’s proclaimed:  
  
“Home, sweet home.”

And her thoughts mostly die where they are before Brigitte can be fully absorbed by them.   
  
McCree waives his insignia over a portion of the wall to his left.

Brigitte’s eyes widen; Hana gasps “whoa” to her right.  
  
A strip of light inlaid into the molding at the top of the wall lights up in simulated sunlight and wraps around a large, dusty, living room. There’s a large TV which takes up the entire wall to the left of the entrance; in the middle of the room is one couch, a large leather chair, and a glass coffee table with a holo pad top, currently displaying the time and temperature in the room. Straight ahead of them, on the other side of the room, is an open kitchenette with an artificial window displaying a nice CCTV feed of a beach somewhere, and to their right are three doors - two wooden ones on either side of a metal door with a plaque that simply has “WC” engraved in it.  
  
A control panel pixelates on the wall where McCree has waived his insignia and it has things like a slider for the lights, temperature controls, and a small feed showing the front of the bodega (devoid of any interest, unsurprising).  
  
Brigitte is used to working with scraps in the greasy corners of a workshop and sleeping in a van held together predominantly by clever hands and a modest amount of duct tape. She’s seen Watchpoint: Gibraltar, and has heard her father’s stories about Overwatch’s facilities, but nothing could have prepared her for the sleek, tech paradise that is this small, underground, heretofore abandoned safe house.  
  
“Winston’s design,” Angela says, upon seeing the awe written on the younger girls’ faces, drawing both Brigitte and Hana’s attention.  
  
“No way!” Says Hana, her amazement evident. Angela simply nods, smiling in what can only be described as pride.  
  
“Oh yes, ‘ergonomic, light-based living’ was how he described it, I believe. It has withstood the test of time quite well.”  
  
“No kidding...” says Hana. Brigitte watches as the gamer taps her hands against the wall and observes as each tap result in a new light along her path on the wall; making for a spectacular, if uneven, light show.  
  
“Alright ladies,” McCree says, turning to them all, “there’ll be time t’morrow to fiddle with th’ walls.” He’s pulling a cigarette out of his stolen pack as he talks. For a moment, he stops speaking to pull a lighter from somewhere on his person and light it. Brigitte hates the smell but doesn’t say anything, trying to be respectful.  
  
“Ew,” Hana says, in her stead. McCree winks at her, tipping his hat.  
  
“Winston’s got us on a stakeout first thing t’morrow morin’,” he continues, “reckon we should all be gettin’ to bed soon. Angie and I ’ll take the room on the right, y’all got the left one. ‘m told sheets and shit can be found in the closets.”  
  
“For all our sakes, no smoking in the safe house,” Angela says, crossing her arms and giving McCree a stone cold glare.  
  
McCree blinks at her, looks down at his cigarette and frowns. To his credit though, he doesn’t argue. The cigarette leaves his mouth and he extinguishes it against his prosthetic arm, placing the remainder of the bud back in the carton, presumably for later use.  
  
“Doctor’s orders?” He chuckles, sheepish. Angela shakes her head in exasperation.    
  
“Don’t stay up too late,” she says, turning her attention to the younger recruits.  
  
Brigitte nods. Seemingly satisfied, Angela makes her way to her room. McCree shakes his head with a chuckle and heads that way, too.  
  
Gripping her duffle, Brigitte follows Hana into their shared dorm.

 

* * *

 

It’s pleasant, if relatively small. There are two full-sized beds placed up against the walls on either side of the room, each with its own bedside table. Two screens are built into the wall at the foot of the beds, and a pseudo-window like the one in the kitchenette is in between the two beds on the far wall. It is currently set to a nights-cape. Hana veers toward the bed on the left and is pleasantly surprised to find Brigitte heading right without any sort of conversation on the decision.  
  
Brigitte busies herself for a few moments putting things away as Hana throws her bag on the floor and opens her arms into a trust fall on to the plush, but bare, bed.  
  
“Uuuuggh,” she groans, the noise muffled by the padding of the mattress. She stays like that for a bit, embracing her fatigue, though she is jet lagged and not at all tired. After a time, she rolls over, her attention on Brigitte as the mechanic removes a change of clothes from her bag. Her suit, removed once they landed and placed the plane in stealth mode, is packed away in a yellow metal case that looks a little like a very large toolbox. There are stickers of many different countries, shop names and cats covering the whole thing, and a number of smudges that Hana thinks are probably oil, but has no interest in verifying. Brigitte opens the case, her fingers moving deftly across the clasps, inspects the contents and then smiles faintly as she re-latches and stores it under the bed. Her hair falls in her face, she tucks it behind her ear and moves on.  
  
Hana blinks, clearing her throat, afraid to be caught staring. She wasn’t staring. She was... umm...  
  
“Hey,” Hana says.  
  
“Hmm?” Brigitte looks up at her.  
  
“I, uh, didn’t realize we would be sharing a room tonight ...” says Hana, truthful and truthfully delighted, “but I have to stream in a bit, you know, as part of those contracts and stuff.” Brigitte puts down her stuff, straightens up, looks genuinely interested in what Hana has to say. So naturally, Hana starts blushing. “Do you - do you mind sitting in? I know some people get weird about being on camera.”  
  
Brigitte breaks out into a grin. Hana doesn’t need to say anything else.  
  
“I would love to!”  
  
“G-great!”

 

* * *

 

Angela waits about an hour after getting settled before she leaves the bunker in favor of some fresh air. Jesse is in the shower and she thinks he will probably have a sense of where she has gone enough that she is not concerned he’ll be looking for her. As she passes by the girls’ room she can hear what sounds suspiciously like simulated combat noises, and although she knows she should tell them to get to sleep, it feels a bit too familial, a bit too mundane; her heart clenches uncomfortably in her chest and she walks past.

Upstairs, in the bodega, Angela pulls out a small baggie of cigarettes she’s ashamed to admit she has. She stands beside a boarded up window and lights one, listening and looking at the world around her. Occasionally she leans to blow a small stream of smoke through the cracks of the wood. A siren is blaring in the distance, an omnic scuttles from one ally to the next across the street.

She checks her phone. Fareeha will be on a mission now, and that worries her, as it always worries her when they are apart, but she knows she shouldn’t interfere; shouldn’t call. As much as she’d like, it will only worry Fareeha if she sees she has missed a call, and knows no one will be around to answer the return. As a compromise, Angela leaves a text: _‘we’ve arrived safely. I love you <3 be safe!’_ And pockets the device, it clinks against the pewter coin stored there. Angela shakes her head and laughs at herself; when did she fall so in love? Who would have thought...

Angela enjoys the silence for awhile; the solitude. She inhales through the filter of her cigarette, lost in thought, before hearing the soft scrape of the shelves moving away from the wall behind her. Jesse’s humored “well, well” finds her.

Angela’s in no position to try and hide her crime.

The cowboy joins her by her window, his spurs clinking all the way. When he stops beside her, Angela sees he has pulled a cigar from a silver case stuffed in his breast pocket.

“Hypocrite,” he says.

“I will not tell if you won’t,” Angela says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, before her interest returns to the street.

“Deal,” Jesse chuckles. “And I ain’t nothin if not a man of my word.” Angela laughs, shakes her head.

“I thought you were going to bed.”

“Well, I got worried. You up and left, thought you’d been spirited away.” Jesse says. “... you okay, Angie?”

Angela hums thoughtlessly and they stand in the silence for a moment. Eventually, the siren in the distance dies away, and with no ambient noise left to distract, Angela finally speaks.

“I’m okay. I just find it … unsettling, to be here; to be a member of Overwatch once again - about in the world. I stand by the opinion that Overwatch ought to have remained buried in the rubble of the Swiss headquarters.”

“That’s a mighty big stance to say standin’ here. I never did ask, what brought you back?” Jesse leans against the wall, languid movements disguising deceptively sharp eyes; an intuitive perception for people. Angela would never hide anything from the man, but even if she thought she might like to, she doubts she would be able to. 

“Fareeha,” says Angela; she turns to Jesse here and offers him a genuine, if exhausted, smile. “She believes in Overwatch and I … I believe in her. In her justice.” Jesse nods, they gaze through the cracks. “What about you?” Jesse laughs, full and carefree.

“Ah shit, Angie, I ain’t tryin to save the world or nothin; ‘m just hopin’ when I finally head for that last roundup, I’ve left this place a little better off than I found it.”

Angela laughs too, she’s down to the filter now, so she throws the bud in her baggie and turns away from the boarded window.

“I hope that someone has told you before: you are a good person, Jesse.”

“If it’s true, it’s only ‘cause I got a lot of help along the way. More’n a man deserves.” Jesse offers a wink, his hat is gone so he pushes his damp hair back, in an effort to do something with his free hand. An act of modesty Angela’s seen a thousand times. She pats him on the arm and shakes her head.

“Goodnight, Jesse,”

“G’night, Ang,”

 

* * *

 

 

> _**Guest70938:** Ooooooh whos the cutie D.va???? _
> 
> _***For20Honor donated $120*** “ **Donating so u see this. That girl is so cute tf; tell her the internet says hi”** _
> 
> _**Guest48332:** *fire emoji, fire emoji, fire emoji* who dat _

 

Hana’s neck, ears, face, eyes, and soul are all on fire as the donation announcement blares through her eardrums. She’s not sure if this is why gaming headphones were invented but holy fuck is she grateful that only she can hear and currently see the chat.

“What are they saying?” Brigitte asks, eyes firmly on the screen. They're playing Nidhogg. Her character jumps over Hana’s and heads for the next screen, closer to being devoured by the victory worm. Hana should have been able to kill her and take the lead, but she’s having a mild crisis and the internet knows it, so they’ll probably cut her some slack. Or taunt her relentlessly. Or both.

 

 

> **1LoveNumb3Rs:** D.va's gonna lose lolololol

 

“They say hi,” Hana says.

 _“_ Oh! How sweet of them!”

Hana can’t see it, but she knows Brigitte is smiling and she’s a little jealous the audience gets to see it and she doesn’t.

 

 

> _**Guest22314:** What’s her name?? WE NEED ANSWERS _
> 
> _**SlImEsAlLy:** Gf!?! Does D.va have a gf! _
> 
> _**B.nyHop:** Lmfao y’all thirsty _
> 
> _**Guest89401:** Just got here whos the new girl? _

 

Hana grips her controller tighter and tighter and tighter, beating Brigitte’s character a couple times as the chat continues to ask questions she's in no position to even attempt answering, before there stress of having to acknowledge her feelings in any capacity finally wins and there’s an audible crack.

Hana’s character stops responding. Both girls blink, glancing down at the fractured controller.

“ _Shit_ ,” says Hana, Korean slipping through her lips.

“Did you - did you break your controller?” Brigitte asks, wonder lacing her words. Hana clears her throat.

“I - uh … just got really into the game.”

Brigitte laughs. "I'm impressed..."

 

 

> _**_2RainGLO:** OMG HER LAUGH. D.VA MAKE HER LAUGH MORE _
> 
> _**LuvD.Bunny:** *giggles* *-* _
> 
> _**Guest23984:** *giggles* _
> 
> _**DJFroggyBoi:** *giggles* lol _
> 
> _**Guest63892:** awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww _

 

“You know, I’m not very good at this game,” says Brigitte, passing her controller over to Hana as she speaks. “I can fix that one while you're  streaming. Your followers probably don’t want to see me keep messing up anyway.”

 

 

> _**hatednebula:** NOOOOOOoo _
> 
> _**Timtamslife00:** What shes leaving/??? _

 

“Right, guys?” Brigitte says, looking into the webcam with a goofy smile.

 

 

> _**Guest480912:** wrong _
> 
> _**Guest689402:** wrong _
> 
> _**OVWhale76:** wrong _

 

“Are you sure?” Hana says, ignoring the chat.

“Definitely!” says Brigitte, grinning. “Just a sec, let me get my tool kit, I’ll still watch. It’ll be just like working in the shop!” There’s a pause, a silence, and then Brigitte turns fully red, her skin matches her hair. Hana knows a blush when she sees one, damnit and that’s a blush. “I - hmm - I mean, sometimes I listen to streams while I’m working and stuff, you know, for background noise!”

 

 

> _**Guest120398:** OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG _
> 
> _**Guest1nDisguise:** ???????????? _
> 
> _**Guest019234:** Who is this girl. We need answers _

 

“Oh yeah, I get it,” says Hana, turning back to the stream, willing herself to stay calm. “My friend is going to hop off!” she tells the stream, “guess I’m too much for her~”

 

 

> **_educatedpigeon:_ ** _Too much for her ;)))))))))))))_

 

“Hey!” Brigitte says, her voice floating in from off camera before she returns, plopping down on the bed behind Hana, toolbox in hand. “I bet I could beat you at mariokart.”

 

 

> _**982374012938ucabu1293487:** WE WANT TO SEE YOU TWO PLAY MARIO _
> 
> _**3BokoGoblin:** ^^^^^^^ _
> 
> _**soodponie:** def _

 

“You’re on,” Hana laughs, and turns her attention back to her audience.

Hana changes the game in Brigitte’s absence and devotes the remainder of the stream to desperately not thinking about the girl behind her, at least on camera. In her headphones, and the chat scrolling to her right the audience gives her frequent updates about what’s happening in the background (she's taking off the plastic bits, she lost a screw, why is she cutting wires??) between telling Hana to get gud and marveling at her amazing gamer skills.

It’s only about 30 minutes later when the chat blows up. Hana blinks, looking at the feed:

 

 

> _**Guest12345:** Asleep!!! _
> 
> _**Guest46891:** Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz _
> 
> _**0o_panda_o0:** Omg mystery girl passed tf out _
> 
> _**MekaNotOkay:** Awwwwww i love her _

 

The stream ends pretty quickly after that. And Hana, reliving the night, seeing Brigitte passed out in a room they share, knows, just knows, she’s in waaaaaaay too deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the ending of this chapter seems rushed... I know it is, because I just wrote it in the last 30 ish minutes before posting ... but you have to understand ... I desperately needed to get this chapter out ... :') 
> 
> I'll have to go back and edit the whole thing to beef it up sometime later. For now, the fact that I'm posting at all has to be good enough. Honestly, it was either power through some sort of ending, or risk never finishing the chapter.
> 
> And I'm not letting this story die. Not like the rest gosh darn it.
> 
> (also, coming up with usernames was by far the hardest thing I've had to think about tonight)


End file.
